


Pretty Corpses

by Ponderosa



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - Martin
Genre: F/M, Infidelity, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-01
Updated: 2010-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-06 22:42:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponderosa/pseuds/Ponderosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is no frightened little girl when they meet again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Corpses

She is no frightened little girl when they meet again. She is a woman poised and charming, her demure smile hiding her venom well. Precise in her steps, she arrives on the arm of her ugly dwarf of a husband, and Sandor waits comfortably amongst the far shadows of the hall until the rhythm of the room divides them. Once Tyrion is off trading wits with the cleverest of the new court, like a river's strong current the flow of gossip brings her near.

"Survived through it all," she says, unsurprised when he snatches her out from under the noses of half a dozen lords and ladies. He draws her into the shadows with him, the crush of her velvet sleeve in his swordhand soft and yielding until his grip seizes the bone of her elbow.

The chatter of the room and heavy draperies hung in royal colours muffle the sound of her hand falling against his chest, but nothing hides the surge in her pulse. Sandor tracks the frantic beat shivering beneath the skin in the slim column of her neck. Her gaze lifts from where her hand rests upon his chest to his eyes. She doesn't avoid his face now, and the twist of her smile is cunning, ripe with the knowledge of how swiftly his heart beat in turn.

"I expected nothing less," she says, and now it is she who guides him deeper into the maze of draperies. By the sound of it, they aren't the only pair to seek the dark corners and avoid the blazing hearths. Deftly, she leads him towards a small vacant alcove. The stone of the wall chills the air.

"I didn't," he admits. "I figured you'd be a pretty corpse. Suspected your wings would be broken before you'd ever learned to fly."

"Aren't I? A pretty corpse, I mean," she whispers. Shameless as a bitch, she presses to him. He can hardly make out her features so he learns her by touch, explores the lean curves of her form greedily. She invites it, bites at his mouth, offers fleeting kisses before rocking up on her toes. He lifts her skirts and thinks about fucking her, leaving her with his seed running down her legs. He takes her with his fingers instead and breathes in the sweetness of hyacinth and amber in her hair. The soft panting of her breath heats through his shirtfront.

"No," he tells her, his fingers curving deep into the slickness of her body. The smell of her rises into the air. "Death is the only thing you can't escape."

"The ice proved that wrong," she says, and her trembling wavers between a welling up of pleasure and of tears.

"You're such a fool. The ice proved nothing," Sandor tells her. He is the proof. His return was not borne of magic but by the strength of his vengeance. The crunch of his blade through the skull of his brother, the swath of bodies both living and unliving, these are what have paved his way back to her.

Sansa holds to him more tightly and he does not say what sits chilled in his throat. She is vicious now. She is not a lost little girl. She is a woman fucking herself on his hand, yet her arms around his shoulders cling as if she fears letting go.

When she slips away from him to rearrange her skirts, he remains mute. His cock is a hard, insistent ache and he resolves to take what he's certain Tyrion does not. He'll have her face down and squirming beneath him, moaning his name into the bedding.

"Dogs may know loyalty," she says, and touches his face gently. "But wolves know honour. Give me time."

He licks his fingers clean as she vanishes from sight. He'll give her a few weeks, but nothing more. Honour isn't a fuck in the shadows, and loyalty has its limits.


End file.
